Circling Gulls

The old engineering marvel, that
five-span bridge of hand-hewn
granite ceaselessly ferries
present-day conveyances over
the raging torrents of river,
that in spring eddies and foams
and drags down the unwary and
the unfortunate to death's cold,
wet arms in its watery depths.

Innocent in late summer, the
great stretches of limestone shelves
glaring bone-white in full light of day
the river languorously passing over
its rapids, no threat to those who fish
its abundant depths, taking little notice
of warning signs, circling gulls crying
the anguish of departed souls.